Perchance to Dream
by S J Smith
Summary: "I dreamed of Angel last night...."


PERCHANCE TO DREAM  
S. J. Smith (laughnfx@yahoo.com)  
  
Disclaimer: Still not Joss nor any of his minions. **SIGH**  
  
Rating: PG   
  
A.N.: You know, Marti Noxon makes me nervous. Or maybe she's just way more mature than I am (always a big possibility). Anyway, I graduated high school back in '82 and I still have dreams about the boy I dated then. I had one just the other day in fact, and it inspired this story.  
  
Dedication: To D.A.D., wherever you are.  
  
As always, thanks to D.M.E. for all the reading.   
  
* * *   
  
I dreamed of Angel last night.  
  
It's not so weird, at least not for me. I dreamed of him a lot after I sent him to Hell and again when he left me after graduation. But now I'm down to two or three dreams of him a year.   
  
At least, that's about how many I remember when I wake up.   
  
Some of them are kinda weird, you know, typical dreams. I mean, Angel and me fighting demons from bumper cars? Okay, it could possibly happen with my wacky life but I thought that one was out there, even for me.  
  
Most of the time, though, it's just us, catching up on things. One time we were driving in a big car and we talked about Dawn and Darla. Another, we were on the Sunnydale docks and he told me his friend, Doyle, died. We didn't always talk in these dreams. Once, I walked along a foggy beach and he was walking the other way. After we passed each other, we turned around and looked back, even though we never spoke. Another time, we listened to this green demon with an incredible voice singing "Over the Rainbow" but all I could see was Angel, sitting in a puddle of sunlight.   
  
That was the last dream I had of him before I died.   
  
The last time I saw him was when I came back from Heaven. I flew out of Sunnydale, heading for him, thinking if I could just see him, touch him, hold him, everything would be all right.  
  
But then I got there and I found myself walking through these long dead weeds that clutched at my clothes. It was like an omen, like I wasn't supposed to go to him. And after being dead and being dragged out of Heaven, it felt like a bad one.  
  
I tried to go the rest of the way to him but I got stuck at the trees. I could feel him, I always could. He was the only vampire I ever really felt; well, now there's Spike but at that time, all I could feel was Angel.   
  
And then I saw him, sitting on a picnic table, sliding off it when he caught sight of me. We stood there, separated by no more than a hundred yards, the moonlight hazy above us. I knew that was enough for him to see by. It was almost enough for me, after all those nights fighting demons in Sunnydale. His face, so pale above his dark clothes, his expression, I could almost read it from where I stood. The undeniable ache of wanting him, of wanting to hold and be held.   
  
But something happened before I could move, before he could come to me. Something hit like a lightning bolt, something unquestionable and true.  
  
I was alive again.  
  
God, I was alive again and I was still the Slayer and Angel was still Angel and there was the curse and nothing. Had. Changed.  
  
I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry.  
  
I wanted to still be dead.  
  
I wanted the impossible.   
  
And Angel, he knew it, I could tell, or he knew enough. I saw his expression, that hopeful, sweet smile, the one he saved just for me, shatter like a piece of broken glass.   
  
He tried. He tried to come to me but I raised my hand and he stopped, though I could see it hurt him to. And oh, God, it hurt me that he stopped. Maybe once upon a time, he would've ignored my gesture and come to me anyway, hugged me and held me through the rest of the night, through the rest of the day. Through the rest of my life.   
  
But it didn't happen. I couldn't let it happen.  
  
I whispered to the air, "I love you. I can't do this," and turned around and walked, no, ran back to the Jeep. I know he followed me but he didn't catch me. I couldn't let him. I couldn't-couldn't do it again. Seeing Angel, seeing him, loving him, watching him leave-it just meant I'd die again.  
  
So I left him instead.  
  
I left him and I went back to Sunnydale and spent the day at the mansion on Crawford Street. I couldn't cry. I wanted to but I couldn't. And in that overgrown garden, somehow still alive even after all these years of neglect, I buried my heart in the shape of a claddagh ring-mine; the one Angel had given to me once on my birthday and once again, after he came back from Hell.  
  
And when I said goodbye, I meant it.   
  
If only my dreams understood that.  
  
I wondered if he dreamed of me, too, or we were sharing dreams still, like we had when the First Evil attacked him. I wondered if maybe these dreams were sort of, you know, a reward or a curse, since we couldn't be together any other way. Because I still dream of Angel and the way he used to look at me. I dream of his voice, soft and warm in my ear. I dream of his cool touch and his cold lips. I dream of his teeth, slicing into me. And I try not to let them bother me, these dreams, because some are memories and some are hopes and wishes and none of them will ever be true again.   
  
I know it because last night, I dreamed of Angel, sitting at a table just covered in food and he was surrounded by his friends. They were all laughing and I could see Angel, smiling and joking with them all.  
  
And the dream me, standing out of the way, in the shadows where they didn't notice, thought that was strange, Angel smiling and joking. But you know how dreams are.  
  
I knew Wesley and Cordelia, though I wondered at her blond hair. I didn't recognize the other three but Angel looked happy. And I was glad but sad, too, since he was happy with someone other than me. Or a lot of someones who weren't me. But that was my decision, wasn't it? I'd left last time.   
  
And Angel leaned over to kiss Cordelia.  
  
"You don't have to watch."  
  
I turned around to see Angel, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked like my Angel, not the one at the table, with his dark on dark clothes and long jacket and silver chain around his neck. He wore his ring and didn't look at me. He watched the people sitting at the table, himself even, with hungry eyes.  
  
"Why?" I asked, wanting to touch him. But I gave up on that right a while ago.   
  
"It's a dream, Buffy. Just a dream." He sighed. "No one's that happy. Not me, not any of them." He gestured at the people at the table. "It's just a dream."  
  
"Could you be that happy with Cordelia, Angel? Could you?"  
  
"I don't know." His expression didn't change. It was still, like the moon. "Maybe. I love her. I love my son."  
  
"Your son?"  
  
"Yeah. Connor." He glanced at me then turned back to the table. "Maybe we should introduce him and Dawn. They would probably be good together, the Key and the son of two vampires."  
  
"Angel, what happened?" I asked, meaning, not just what happened in front of us, with him and Cordelia and a son named Connor and all of his friends gathered around to eat-was that the green demon I'd seen singing in the other dream?-but with us, too.  
  
"You died."  
  
"No, Angel. I had to. I had to die so Dawn could live." How many times did I have to explain it?   
  
"I didn't die with you. You didn't tell me. You told me to leave." He really looked at me finally, with those incredible eyes of his, hurting, hungry, lonely. "And when you came back, you wouldn't let me help you. You gave up."  
  
"I couldn't," I said. "I didn't want your help. I wanted to be dead. And when I needed someone," I broke off.   
  
"Spike was there."  
  
Of course he knew about Spike. I knew about Darla and now Cordelia and Connor. No secrets in dreams, I guess. "It's my fault."  
  
"No." Angel shook his head. "I left you first. I made that decision. And I could've stayed after Joyce died. But I didn't."  
  
"God, Angel, I miss you," I said. "How did we get so far apart?"  
  
He gave me that crooked half smile, the one that still gave me chills. Even if it was Cordelia's smile now. "It happened, Buffy. Maybe it was meant to." He glanced at the table, now empty. "I have to go, Buffy. I have a date."  
  
"With Cordelia?"  
  
He just touched my shoulder and was gone and I woke up, just that suddenly, still feeling his fingers on my skin though the sunlight glared in my eyes. For a minute, I couldn't remember where I was then I knew, my room, Mom's old room, Sunnydale. I could hear Dawn downstairs awake and perkier than any person had a right to be on a Saturday morning.   
  
I got up and got dressed, wondering how Angel was, really. I wondered if I dreamed true and if it was, whether Cordelia loved him back. I wanted him to love and be loved and God it hurt but I wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn't with me.   
  
I looked at myself in the mirror and remembered looking for his reflection and never finding it. It didn't really mean he wasn't there.   
  
But I guess it did now.  
  
I love you, Angel.  
  
See you in my dreams. 


End file.
